A Fish Out of Water

This is the tale of how I went to a class called "Simple Cardio/Step" at the Y earlier this evening!

A Fish Out of Water: A Tale of Sadness and Triumph(?)

I enter the room, and the Instructor offhandedly points me to the very first step-upper in the row closest to the door. I want to explain to her, "I've really never taken a step class before, ever, and quite frankly, I went to Zumba twice and it really didn't go well, I mean, look at me, so, I mean, can I have a spot, like, furthest away, more toward, you know, hidden? A sort of hidden... area?"  But there is no time for this explanation. Really no time even for a simple, "I'd rather be in the back." The instructor then tells me in her friendlycheerful voice that I'll need to find my platform, a ball and some weights and a mat. Okay. Can do.

Cool, I'm already overwhelmed!

People filter in. A few men, lots of women. Slowly, slowly, my worst nightmare is coming true. The truth of the class is coming out, now. Simple step is not for big people who need somewhere to start in group fitness. Simple Step is for older women who've been coming to the Y since they were born but maybe got osteoarthritis and can't do BodyPUMP II  anymore. No one else needs to be told to find their weight and their ball, they simply go in the supply cabinet and fill in the rows. 

The room continues to fill up. Of course, I am in the very front, closest to the door so I watch as everyone files in. Yes, there are a few women maybe hitting the 150-160 mark, but on the whole,  I am very much alone in my BMI neighborhood. 

So, this is what it feels like to be Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids! Huh.

Then, Step Class begins. If you're really familiar with me (if you're not, Hi Stranger!) you know I'm generally very chipper. I am ready! Step up, down, up, down, reach down, "rollerblade," knees high! I am doing okay! All right! I can step up and down! I am sweating a little, but that's cool! I'm in step with everyone else!  I can do this! Yes!

Then all hell breaks loose. 

The instructor announces we're done with warm-ups. What happens next, I cannot explain,  because I had a really difficult time following it. Some of you knew me in high school and remember the disaster that was trying to learn how to tap-dance-- and that was 70ish pounds ago! There is jumping, cha-cha-ing, toe-tapping and all kinds of things that my very large body could not handle. 

This is the point where I am starting to feel like, I can't do this, I don't fit in here. I start to think about leaving, but there's too much stuff around me-- I'd have to put it all away in front of everyone.  I am a fish out of water. I look like an idiot. My legs already hurt. I am absolutely a fish out of water.

I'm that fish, except less dead and more flailing.

Then, I have the worst thought. Tarver and Kyle are at the Y. What if they come by to see what the class is about? And they see me, my husband sees me, flailing while everyone else dances around like gazelles? How horrible for him. How ashamed of me would he feel? Can he still get an annulment after we've been married for a whole month? Worse yet, will I be fat forever? If I can't handle this, can I even handle losing weight at all? Am I destined to look like this forever? To feel like this forever? To get diabetes and die before I'm sixty?  Clearly, I am panicking at this point. I am starting to feel tears in my eyes, and my chin getting all sad and crinkly. The steps are getting more and more complicated and I can't tell if the salty wet stuff on my face is tears or sweat.

What stopped me from running out in that moment? Honestly, I can't tell you. I don't know. I knew that I had to keep going. I couldn't quit, and I didn't. Maybe it was realizing that I was being silly. Maybe it was the plethora of work-out material around me that I would have to put away. Maybe I really felt something for myself in that moment and decided, No. This is for YOU. I stepped to the side, wiped my whole face off and stepped right back up onto my stepper-upper. Then I stepped off my stepper-upper. I did that again and again in differing variations for 45 more minutes, until the class was over.

When we got home, I told Tarver what I had been thinking about. He of course told me that was ridiculous; he was proud of me for getting out there and trying it.

 He asked me, "You know why all the other big ladies in town weren't there tonight?"

Crying in earnest now, I shook my head no, and he said:

"You were the bravest one."

And I was a fish out of water, but maybe not in the way I thought.

Did I do it well? Nope! Did I almost leave in tears 15 minutes in? YEP! Did I exercise? YES, I REALLY DID! Will I do it again next Monday? Errrrm. We'll see.